


We’re Alone in This Together (Cause Life Keeps Getting Between Us)

by trashiam



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 09:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashiam/pseuds/trashiam
Summary: He was a fool. A complete and utter fool to think that he could ever fathom just how beautiful she’d be in a white gown, that any dream or fantasy that his mind manages to conjure up could ever compare to reality. Not even that ridiculous bridal shoot they did years ago came close to this.





	We’re Alone in This Together (Cause Life Keeps Getting Between Us)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is not very good but I'm currently in a haze from the flu medications so I’m just putting it up. Okay, enjoy?

***

He was a fool. A complete and utter fool to think that he could ever fathom just how beautiful she’d be in a white gown, that any dream or fantasy that his mind manages to conjure up could ever compare to reality. Not even that ridiculous bridal shoot they did years ago came close to this.  _Nothing_  comes close to this. So, he stands there, in awe, choked and watches as she makes her way towards him, just like she had so many times before, but at the same time, he knows, this is unlike any of those times.

She’s beaming and he can’t help but mirror it. He could never help it. Not then, not now, not ever. Infectious. Contagious. Addictive. She was a drug he could never resist, even if he tried and he’s tried. And he could lie and say there are only a handful of times in his life when his breath was truly knocked out of him, but he knows better. He knows that he loses his breath for every laugh that escapes her, every instance in which he catches her looking back at him, each time she reaches for his hand, every hug they share,  _every single moment with her_. But nothing compares to this, and all he can do is pray that he does not lose consciousness and that his lungs will remember how to breathe again.

***

_ They’re sitting on the living room floor with wedding napkin samples strewn haphazardly between them. _

_ “Which one do you think?” she says, each hand holding a napkin for comparison. _

_ Scott furrows his eyebrows and darts his eyes between the two. He looks at her and sheepishly scratches the back of his head. “Honestly Tess, I can’t tell the difference.” If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were one and the same, but, after having spent years with the woman beside him, he’s picked up enough to know that there  _ is _a difference. Whether he manages to notice it or not is another story._

_ A look of exasperation and fondness crosses her features as she lets out a sigh. “Scott.” It’s her fault really, he thinks to himself. She should know him well enough by now to realise that distinguishing between different shades of the same colour is an impossible task. _

_ “I know, I know…” he says, “listen, I think whatever you pick is going to be great.” _

_ She shakes her and holds up her choice. _

_ He grins at her. “Perfect!” _

***

His smile is warm, and he steps forward, wants nothing more than to meet her halfway. When they finally meet, her forehead is crinkled in silent question.  _“What do you think?”_

He swallows a lump in his throat and his vision blurs.  _Damn it, he promised himself that he wasn’t going to cry._  He reaches for both her hands, squeezes, not once, but twice.  _“Beautiful T. So beautiful.”_

He can hear the hushed murmurs resound through the hall, a soft melody floating through the air, luring them back to reality, chiding them to stick to the schedule, but this is the only place he wants to be, here, right in this moment, with her. He’s intoxicated by everything about her. Her nervous and giddy smile, her grace as she floats in her gown, and her scent,  _god her scent_. She smells incredible, like she did at the age of seven, with toothy grins and clammy hands held tightly onto his, at sixteen with her head resting on his shoulder – both – shackled by exhaustion, at twenty-one with bleary eyes in a hospital bed, and at twenty-eight with unparalleled euphoria and gratitude, her arms wrapped around him in a bone crushing hug on the world’s largest stage. She smells like early mornings and late nights, and everything else in between; she smells like  _home_.

They stare at each other and he’s washed with an overwhelming sense of finality. This is it. An end and a new beginning. He lets out a trembling breath.  _“Ready?”_

She sends him an imperceptible nod, turns to her side and loops her arm in his. Entwined, just like they’ve always been, they take their steps forward, towards the next chapter of their lives.

***

_ “Tess, it’s not a wedding playlist without Ol’ Blue Eyes himself, crooning about love.” _

_ “Oh definitely!” she says, clapping her hands in quick succession. _

_ Scott is sprawled on the couch, his phone in his hand, Spotify at the ready. He taps play and a familiar tune spills out of the speakers. He places his phone on the coffee table and offers his hand to her. _

_ “May I have this dance Miss Virtue?” _

_ She smiles at him, so warm and fond, before attempting to school her features and play along. “Why, Mr. Moir,” she says, placing her hand delicately into his open palm, “I thought you’d never ask.” _

_ A laugh, so free and vibrant, escapes her as he twirls her around the living room. He can feel himself smirk, his ego inflating slightly over the fact that he made her laugh. It’s one of his favourite sounds in the world, and he had spent most of his life doing everything he can to hear it every day. She laughs with so much joy, unburdened and open, exactly as she did when he was ten, with his dramatic bows to accompany her graceful curtsies, at eighteen with his fingers trailing cheekily against her sides, as she squeals and pulls away, in an attempt to escape from his impish intents, at twenty-three with fatigue set firmly in her bones following a demanding physiotherapy session, and at thirty with incomparable pride and elation, he clings to her, relishing the laugh-cry that rushes out of her as the crowd roars. She laughs with love and exasperation; and he is rendered helpless each time. _

***

He leans in, pecks her cheek, lingers for a second too long and she lets him. Their eyes meet, her eyes glistening with tears, her smile so wide and  _so full_. He returns it, not with the same intensity because  _no one_  glows like she does, no one can match her ferocity, her goodness and her beauty. He should know, he’s spent the last twenty-five years blissfully by her side, in admiration, in  _longing_.

One last squeeze and  _he lets go_...

***

_ “Hey, you’re home!” _

_ His face immediately breaks into a grin and his body reaches for her, like a reflex ingrained in him since the beginning of time. He leans in, gently pressing his lips against hers and he feels his heart soar. He’s still in complete disbelief that he gets to come home to her, today and forever. And it’s something he can never get sick of, to come home and have her leap into his arms, to wrap her arms around his neck, and pull him closer. To be able to look into her eyes, willingly drown into the depths of green and never feeling the need to resurface for air. _

_ “Hi.” He says to her, before breaking their embrace to turn towards the couch and raise his hand in greeting. “Hey Scott.” _

***

She sends him one last smile, a silent message of gratitude.  _Thank you for helping with all the wedding stuff, for walking me down the aisle, for being here. Thank you._

He watches as her hand reaches for another, their fingers intertwining and her feet taking the last few steps down the aisle, leaving him behind. He listens in silence as they exchange vows, waits in silence as a band is slipped onto her finger, and watches in complete silence as she surges forward, her lips crashing onto someone else’s to seal a lifelong commitment.

And just like that, his breath is pummelled out of him and he’s not sure if he can ever recover.

**Author's Note:**

> This program was inspired by (surprise, surprise) @rainy-sunshine’s wedding headcanon from a while back because that was simply gut wrenching. Disclaimer though, this fic does not/will never do @rainy-sunshine’s headcanon justice (plus, it’s a little different here, in that Tessa is the one who is getting married to someone else rather than Scott, because why not?), SO if you haven’t already (which I doubt because those headcanons have reached legendary status), go expose yourself to excruciating torture by reading those wretched treasures.
> 
> The title is brought to you by “Bad Timing” by Rhys Lewis, a wonderful and talented musician who has quite a few songs that elicit agonizing pain (i.e. “Reason to Hate You”, “Be Your Man”, “No Right to Love You” – can you imagine all the possible VM angst that could come from those songs). Check him out if you wish!
> 
> Alright, I’ll be in my VM trashcan (@havemoirvirtue). Bye.


End file.
